What Could Have Been and What Could Be Again
by quietandsneaky
Summary: John says something cruel to Sam during an argument, leading Sam to run away and make a tragic decision.


**Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural do not belong to me.**

A pissed off, hurting Sam Winchester was done. Absolutely done. Why couldn't he just, for one night, be able to do what he wanted? He wasn't needed on this hunt, so what did he have to go? It was because, Sam determined, any speck of happiness that he dared to feel had to be scrubbed out by his father. It was deemed a 'distraction', and therefore had to be stamped out.

Sam was sick of it. Why did saving people and hunting things have to mean that they would all be miserable? Why did every other family around get at least a glimmer of happiness while they got nothing? Nope, it wasn't fair. And as tired as he was of fighting, Sam intended to keep on fighting for what he wanted. The hunt was over, and John was insisting on stopping for the night, rather than going back and letting Sam attend the sleepover that, of course, John had promised he could attend but had conveniently forgotten now that it was inconvenient for him to keep his promise.

"Dad, you promised I could go if the hunt was over. The hunt's over."

"Sam, I said no." John growled, growing tired of Sam's arguing. "We've been going for eighteen hours straight, we all need some sleep…"

"I can sleep in the morning. After I've gone to the sleepover that _you_ promised I could go to." Sam said.

John, as tired of fighting with Sam as Sam was of fighting with him, took a different tack. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and asked with a measured calm, "Sam, please. Just this once, don't fight me. I am exhausted and I need to go to sleep. Now, if you stop fighting me on this sleepover, we will take a week off, no strings attached, and we will do every night whatever you want to do."

"I'm just supposed to believe that you'll keep that promise? Like you've kept every other one you ever made to me?"

"Sam, don't start…" John said, beginning to lose a little of the carefully constructed cool that he had tried to show.

"You know why I don't think you'll keep it? Because it would make me happy, and you can't have that."

"Sam, what do you want me to do? I've been up for thirty-six hours. It's a two-hour drive back to the house. Do you want me to crash the car?" John asked.

"Then let me drive."

"No, Sam." John said. "You need to rest, too."

"I give up." Sam said. "Just forget it, Dad. I'll never ask you for anything else again."

John started to yell something, tired of Sam's dramatics. Until he realized that they weren't dramatics. He had promised that Sam could go to that sleepover. He'd done it at the time to avoid an argument with Sam, never thinking that the hunt would actually be over by now. He was happy it was, but it killed him that the reason it _was_ over so quickly was Sam. Sam had done an amazing, studious job on the research, scoping out the hunt, and quickly killing the wraith. He deserved a reward. He deserved the world, but Sam didn't want the world. Sam wanted friends. Something that a fourteen-year-old should be able to take for granted. Sam would do anything to be able to take anything for granted.

As John moved through the room to take a shower and get ready for bed, all he could feel was regret for letting Sam down. Again. Sam wasn't selfish. Far from it. Despite his constant pulling against what John wanted him to do, he usually, in the end, did exactly that. And John didn't make it any easier for him. He usually was so frustrated with Sam that any time Sam _did_ listen to him John tended to just tell him that he should do it more rather than expressing any appreciation. Instead of leaving and going to the bar like he wanted, John decided to try and smooth things over with Sam.

John took a seat on the bed next to Sam, who was now leaning against the headboard on the bed reading. Sam was making it a point not to look at John, but he was blinking rapidly and sniffing. John ran his hands over his face, wondering why it was so hard to just talk to his own son.

"Sam."

Sam sniffed. "Yes, sir."

"Sam, would you look at me, please?"

With a determined effort, Sam looked up from his book. "Yes, sir."

John sighed. "Sam, believe it or not, I do hate seeing you unhappy."

"I don't believe it."

"Do you really believe that I say no just to make you miserable?" John asked.

"Yes, sir." Sam said, and John, baffled, could tell that Sam meant business.

"Sam, I know this sleepover meant a lot to you…"

"It wasn't just a sleepover." Sam said.

"What?"

"It wasn't just a sleepover." Sam said. "It was a party for me."

"A party? What kind of party?"

"For my birthday." Sam said.

"Sam, your birthday was almost a month ago."

"Yeah, it was. And you never said happy birthday, by the way, but that's not the point. The point is my friends found out that I'd never had birthday party before, so they offered to hold one for me. With a cake, and games, and presents, and _friends_. It wasn't just a sleepover, so when I begged you to go, I was thinking of them and all the work they put into it too." Sam said. "Still think I'm acting selfish?"

"I never said you were selfish."

"That's usually your go-to line when I ask for something to do that doesn't involve hunting." Sam replied bitterly.

"I meant what I said about spending the week together." John said. "We'll get up in the morning, go back to the house, and then you call the shots."

Sam sighed, softening his voice when he could see that John really was making an effort. "No training?"

John bit his tongue. "You know we have to train, Sam."

And just like that, Sam's sharp voice was back. "See, that's what I'm talking about! It's gonna be all day training and you might spend five minutes with me before you konk out on the couch. No thanks."

John felt the pressure on his tongue growing, but he decided to be indulgent. "Running in the morning. Thirty minutes, that's it."

"Then what?"

"Like I said, whatever you want." John said.

"I want to go a museum? Watch a movie I like? Listen to the music I like? You'll do it and you won't bring up training or hunting?"

"Promise." John said.

"I'd love that idea, Dad. I really would. But it seems too good to be true."

"Damn it Sam!" John exclaimed. "I'm trying here, what do you want from me?"

"I just want to spend one night taking a deep breath." Sam said. "You and Dean have your own ways of relaxing after we finish a hunt. Why is it so bad that I want to do the same?"

"Sam, it's not…"

"Then why is it so hard for you to just go back to the house so I can do what you promised me I could do?" Sam asked.

"Dean has the car…" John tried weakly.

"Dean has the car to go and get dinner. And can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that you weren't planning on going to a bar the second you ate whatever Dean came back with?"

John looked away, a sure sign to Sam he was avoiding a lie.

"Dad, I meant what I said. If I really believed you would keep your word about that week together, I'd let the sleepover go. I would kill to feel like you cared enough to take time out of your schedule for me. But I can't hope for it. Because if I do, and you don't follow through, we're just gonna end up back here again."

John wanted to argue, to tell Sam he was wrong, that he was just being a dramatic, overreactive brat, but he didn't. Because Sam wasn't. So John decided to add to the pot.

"What if we didn't?"

"What?" Sam asked.

"What if we didn't?" John asked. "End up back here again?"

"How?" Sam asked.

"We still do the week. I won't back down on that. But after that, as long as we aren't on a hunt, you can have a night off. One night a week."

Sam wanted to take the deal. He really did. "What are the conditions?"

"Exactly what I said earlier. Stop fighting me all the time. You do your training six nights a week. No complaining, and with a good attitude. Do we have a deal?"

"What happens if you don't hold up your end of it?" Sam said.

"Then bet's off." John said.

Sam thought about it, long and hard. Trusting his father again was likely to lead to disappointment, but the still small boy inside of him wanted to believe it was possible. Sam decided to take the chance.

"I'll do it. If you will. And on one other condition." Sam said. "You don't leave tonight. When Dean comes back with dinner, you eat and stay here with us."

"Sam…"

"Stay or the deal's off." Sam said again.

John sighed. "Deal." John started laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"You're as stubborn as your mother." John said.

"Mom was stubborn?" Sam asked.

"She was. Where do you think you got it from?"

"Honestly? You." Sam said. "Wow. I'm surprised, Dad."

"Surprised at what?"

"You actually told me something about mom without me having to beg for it." Sam said.

John's laughter immediately ceased. Sam's earlier words were ringing through his head. _You never said happy birthday, by the way, but that's not the point. The point is my friends found out that I'd never had birthday party before, so they offered to hold one for me. With a cake, and games, and presents, and friends._ The four birthdays that Mary had been there for with Dean had all been happy days, with presents and lots of attention for the birthday boy. John honestly tried to do as much as he could for Sam, but he couldn't recreate Mary. Dean tried, soothing Sam when he was sick or hurt or scared as only he could do, but the truth would always remain. Sam would never experience his mother's love and care. John quickly decided what to do with Sam that night.

"How about this? When Dean gets back with the food, we'll talk about your mom. We'll tell you whatever you want to know."

For the first time that night, Sam smiled. "You mean it?"

"Yeah. I mean it."

Sam jumped from the bed he was on and into the father's arms for the first time in John's recent memory. "Thank you, Dad. That's even better than the sleepover. Thank you."

"You're welcome, buddy."

But that feeling of closeness didn't last for very long. They had the conversation that Sam had been longing to have, and he went to sleep feeling like maybe everything would be okay. For a few more hours it was. They got back to the house, and everyone laid down to take a nap. John, feeling in a more generous mood from the night before, decided that a one day rest from training wouldn't be 'end of the world'. Dean's eyes nearly popped out of his head when John said that, but he chose not to say anything. John was the first one up, and he was woken up by the phone in the house. Fifteen minutes later, he was leaving with a packed bag, grateful that Sam was still asleep.

"Hey, Dad."

 _Damn it_ , John thought. "Hey, Sam."

"I was thinking we'd go for a hike today. What do you think?"

 _May as well get it over with._ "I can't, Sam."

Sam shrugged. "That's right, you hurt you foot, didn't you? That's okay. We can do something else."

"Sam." John said, turning around with his bag and dreading the look on Sam's face. "I can't." The hurt and anger that John read in Sam when he saw the bag was too much. "Look, Sam, you can still take the week. You earned it after this last hunt…"

"Forget it." Sam said. "I'll do all the training you want. I should have known better than to think that you'd actually keep your word."

"Sam, people are dying…"

"PEOPLE ARE ALWAYS DYING, DAD!" Sam shouted in frustration. "They're always dying, and there's always monsters, and you are always putting them over me."

"We'll talk about this when I get back." John said. "I have to go."

"That's right. Go. Your _job's_ waiting and _that's_ important."

"Sam…" John said, practically begging now. _Please don't hate me. I do love you. This is killing me not to be here._

"I SAID GO!" Sam shouted again, and this time Dean came running into the living room.

"DON'T SHOUT AT ME, BOY!" John felt he had been extremely patient to this point, but he wasn't going to allow Sam to shout.

Sam was shaking his head, and John noticed him blinking and sniffing again. Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulder, amazed that Sam hadn't started fighting more. When John saw a tear fall, he almost, _almost_ put the bag down and stayed behind. Almost. Until Sam said something that nearly shredded John's soul.

"You know, when I was a little kid, and you'd leave over and over and over, and get mad at me for asking about mom or asking you to stay for a day or two, I started wondering if you would have been happier if it had been me instead of mom that died in that fire."

"Sam, that's not true…" John said.

"Then prove it. Stay here. With me." Sam said. "Call Bobby to take the hunt, or Caleb, or someone. Please, Dad. I just want you."

"I'm sorry, Sam. I have to go." John said.

"So go." Sam said. "Just remember our deal last night. 'Cause it's off now."

"Damn it, Sam. You will do what I tell you when I tell you!" John shouted.

"Make me."

"You're right. It would have been better if it had been you that night. Because then we wouldn't be in this position in the first place." John said through clenched teeth.

The breath went out of everyone in the room. Dean couldn't believe what John had said. Sam had given up the fight not to cry, and now had two big, fat tears rolling down with more coming right behind them. When the cruelty of what he'd said occurred to John, he couldn't believe it himself. He wished he could take it back, but the damage was done. Sam finally fled to the kitchen, where John could hear him weeping. He put the bag down and headed towards the kitchen, only to be stopped by Dean.

"Dad, leave him alone. Go on your hunt."

"I can't just leave…" John said.

"Dad, you just told Sam he should've _died_. Sam takes everything, every single thing, that you say to him to heart. When we were supposed to be resting earlier, he was sitting up coming up with things for you to do this week. He loves you. He won't admit it, but he even admires you. He wants so bad to make you happy. And you repaid that by telling him he should be dead. You can't fix that. So just go. You can talk to him when you come back."

It killed him, but John knew Dean was right. "Will you tell him…?"

"No sir." Dean interrupted. "I'm sorry, Dad, but I won't smooth this one over for you."

John nodded. "Okay. I'll be back soon."

When John was gone, Dean proceeded to take out his rage at his father on the living room wall. There was a hole there now, but Dean didn't care. Sam was Dean's life, Dean's baby. And Dad had lobbed the ultimate blow to Sam-telling him that he should be dead. Even the thought of Sam not being there made Dean's overprotective big brother instincts kick in, and he suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to go grab Sam and never let him go. There was just one problem.

Sam was gone.

Sam was running through the streets at breakneck speed. He had gone out the back door, through their miniscule backyard, through another backyard, onto the street, and kept running. And he was still running. He had always wondered if his father hated him. But never once did he actually think John wanted him dead. He had only said it to guilt his father into staying like he'd promised. Now he knew for sure it was true. And the emptiness he felt inside at knowing that his only living parent didn't want him alive hurt. It burned deep.

When Sam found an alleyway, he turned and took it, hoping to throw Dean and John off his trail. If they were even looking for him by now. But he didn't run for long. A rock in the middle of the alleyway tripped him, and Sam fell and scraped both knees. The rain was also starting to pour, and it unleashed the torrent of emotion inside him. Sam started crying, a deep, wracking cry that he hadn't experienced since he was younger and woke up from a nightmare wanting Dean. But Dean wasn't there now. No one was.

"Sam Winchester."

Sam jumped. A few feet away from him was a boy his own age with red hair, brown eyes, freckles, and glasses. The boy was staring at him with an unsettling smile.

"Who are you?" Sam asked.

"That's not important. You're hurt." The boy said.

"I'm fine. Go away and leave me alone." Sam said, turning away from the boy, thankful it was raining so he could wipe his face without the kid knowing he was crying.

"I'm afraid I can't do that." The boy said. He moved to sit next to Sam. "And I didn't mean your knees."

"I said go away." Sam insisted, though he didn't offer up much resistance.

"I'm your best friend right now, Sam."

It suddenly occurred to Sam that there was no reason for this stranger to know his name. "How do you know my name?"

"That's not important either."

"It is if you want to keep talking." Sam said.

"You have nothing to gank me with." The boy said with a smile. "Nice posturing though."

"What do you want?" Sam asked.

"I want to give you what you want." The boy explained. "The deepest desire you have."

Sam laughed. "That's not possible."

"Come on. Try me. If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?"

"My mom." Sam said with no hesitation. "My mom back, healthy and alive."

"Done."

Sam laughed. "That's not possible. My mom's been dead since I was a baby."

"Do you want her back or not?"

"What are the strings?" Sam asked. His rational mind knew this had to be either a bad or a nightmare, but even the remote possibility was too good to pass up.

This time it was the boy who laughed. "You're very astute. I'm impressed." The boy nodded and shifted his position slightly. "The strings are this. Your mom comes back, healthy and vibrant just like before. You get five years with her and your dad and brother. You all live a happy, healthy, normal life."

"What happens after five years?"

"You die." The boy said simply.

"Die." Sam said.

It wasn't a question. He somehow knew this kid was legitimate. He could make this wish come true, and, at least for a while, everything would be okay. For Sam, it was a no-brainer. Dad wanted him dead for his mom to come back anyway. At least this way, Sam would get a little while with her too.

"Die how?" Sam asked.

"You get dragged to hell."

"I won't resist when the time comes." Sam said.

"Everyone does. They regret the deal and suddenly don't want to go."

"That won't happen." Sam said. "I don't want my family to go through any more pain than necessary."

"I can make it look like you died in your sleep. There'll be no visible marks on you, and it'll just look like your heart stopped. But I can't stop you from being dragged." The boy said.

Sam nodded. "And my mom will live to an old age? With my dad?"

"She'll live well into her 90s. You can even include your dad and brother in this deal if you want."

Sam nodded again. "I'll do it."

"There's one more thing. You can't tell anyone about this deal. You do, your mom drops dead right away and you still die in five years."

"I won't say anything." Sam promised.

"Okay. It's done. All I need is handshake."

"A handshake?" Sam asked.

"Well, we normally seal deals with kisses. We can do that if you really want to."

"A handshake's fine." Sam said, offering the boy his hand.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Sam Winchester." The boy said. "Now, I'm going to put you to sleep. You'll wake up soon in a hospital room with your family."

"Hey, before you do that, what's your name?"

"Azazel."

"Sammy. Sammy, come on, buddy. Wake up."

Sam opened his eyes slowly. He was in an unfamiliar room, and he could hear the all too familiar beep of a heart monitor. His vision was blurry for a moment, but when it came into focus, Sam could see Dean on his left side, leaning over and staring at him so hard he was practically suffocating Sam.

"Dean, back up."

"Sammy." Dean smiled, and didn't back up. He grabbed Sam and squeezed him hard. "You're okay." 

"It's Sam. And I'm fine."

"Sammy."

Dean released Sam and Sam saw his father standing in the corner of the room. Suddenly, his memory all came flooding back. The fight, telling Sam he should've died, the boy in the alleyway, the deal. Sam looked away from John and towards the opposite wall, eyes stinging with tears.

"Sammy, please look at me."

"No. You don't want me, remember?" Sam asked. "And it's Sam."

"Sam. Please. Just look at me."

Sam slowly wrenched his eyes away from the wall and towards his dad. He was shocked to see that there were also tears in John's eyes. John slowly approached the other side of the bed and sat down.

"Sam, I'm so sorry. I never meant what I said to you, and I'll never forgive myself for it. I love you, Sam. I love you and Dean so much that it hurts. And I'm sorry I ever so much as made you consider the possibility that I don't love you, or that I wished you were anything but alive and healthy. Son, please, please don't hate me. But I wouldn't blame you if you do."

"I'm sorry too, Dad." Sam said.

"Sammy, where were you?" Dean asked. "You've been missing for two weeks. We found you over a hundred miles away from the house."

"What? Two weeks?"

"Yeah, buddy. You left the house that night and we went looking for you. Bobby found you in his backyard the next day. You were unconscious and you stayed that way for two weeks. What happened to you?" John asked.

"I don't know. I don't remember anything." Sam said, amazed his father didn't seem angrier. "I'm sorry about running away, Dad."

"Sam, there's something else we need to tell you." John said. "Look at the door."

Sam's eyes floated towards the door of the room. A woman was there, that Sam had seen in pictures and heard about in the occasional story, but never met. She had the same long blonde hair she'd had before.

"Mom?"

The woman smiled. "Hi, Sammy."

Sam swallowed. "Is this for real?"

"It's real, Sam." John said. "I don't know how, but your mom's back."

Mary shared a hug with Sam, and Sam didn't protest. He let Mary hold him, wishing she'd never let go. Though they parted on the hug, Mary pulled up a chair and sat next to Sam's bed. Sam wanted to ask her a million questions. Before he could do that, John asked for his attention.

"Sam, first, I have a question. While you were gone, did anything happen?"

"Like what?" Sam asked.

"Sam, did you somehow bring your mom back?"

"John." Mary said. "Not now. He said he doesn't remember anything."

"I don't, Dad. I ran out of the house after the fight, I tripped, and then I woke up here. I swear that's it."

"Okay." John said, and Sam was relieved to be believed. "The other thing is this. Your mom ripped me a few new ones when she found out what we've been up to since she died. So it's over, Sam. No more hunting. We're moving in with Bobby, and you're going to school there."

Sam was numb. "You mean it?"

"I do. Sam, I'm sorry. I can't say it enough."

"Tell you what, Dad. Let's just start over. How's that?"

"I can do that." John said. "I can do that, son."

Sam smiled, and thought to himself _Maybe the deal was just a dream._ But suddenly, everything froze. The boy from the alleyway, Azazel, appeared next to the bed. Sam felt his heart sink.

"It wasn't a dream, was it?"

"No. Normally, I would have just let you keep believing that, but I didn't want to do that for you. I want you to know, every day, that your time is running out. Make the best of it."

"Can I get the two weeks back?" Sam asked hopefully.

"No. I give you those two weeks, you'll want more." Azazel said. "You have four years, fifty weeks, five days, and twenty-three hours left, Sam. Enjoy it as much as you can."

Sam nodded. "I will."

Azazel disappeared, and the family returned back to normal. Sam was ecstatic to have his family back, but the thought kept recurring in the back of his mind.

 _Hope you're happy now, Dad._


End file.
